


A World For Us

by besosdecanela



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Erik - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Love, Minor Original Character(s), OC, Original Character - Freeform, Passion, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, Romance, Sweet, poto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besosdecanela/pseuds/besosdecanela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman working her way in the Opera; a distant Ghost in the shadows. He'll teach her everything she must know. She'll teach him what it means to be human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all!  
> So this is an old fic of mine I had posted on fanfiction.net a couple of years ago, and hadnt continued it in a while(I'm peoplewillsaywereinlove on ff, although I'm active here now). I've decided to import, edit and hopefully continue this story. I'll be importing in the next week and updating soon!
> 
> So this is sort of an AU, no Christine Raoul or some other characters(no offense to them just wanted to explore a different OC and love interest for Erik).  
> Let me know what you think! :)

The young woman's belongings were huddled near the wooden door of the orphanage; she only had two small bags, but she gathered all her things into them in order to move into the city. Lavern, the farmer down the road, had offered her a ride into town.

Amelia Jarnette stood around her many sisters and brothers, most of them teary eyed at their sisters departure. True, the orphans weren't related, but they had been a family for years. Amelia's parting would leave a hole in their hearts.

"Oh, but must you go? We will miss you!" a little girl proclaimed, holding on to the young woman's dress. Several other children yelled in agreement. The young woman smiled sadly.

"I have to go, dear. It's my time and I must work, too. But I will visit! Soon, it will be Christmas, and I will be home again", Amelia stated, hugging her fellow orphans tightly.

"Write to us, Amie, please!"

"Don't forget about us!"

The young woman looked around at the sad faces around her. She did not want to leave them but she had been at Coellard Orphanage past her time. The cut off point for orphans staying at the home was eighteen. Yet, her foster mother, Mrs. Coellard, took pity on Amelia, and gave her time to try and receive employment.

Amelia had written to several businesses in town, and even went to see several owners about work. She had even talked to a few maids who worked in the Opera Populaire, the grand opera house. Months passed, and no word.

The young woman's future seemed bleak. Like most of her life, she spent her days cleaning and cooking for the other orphans; she was more than good at her job, putting all her strength into what she cleaned. When night came, the children would gather around her near the only fire in the small home. They would wait patiently until she was able to take the break for the night; she would sit and tell them wondrous stories of princes and kind dragons while evil witches plotted against the humble queen. She acted out every part and even sung some parts; Amelia was not very talented in her singing, yet she was successful in making the children laugh their hearts out.

She could not dance, nor sing. But she told beautiful tales that would keep even the most troublesome child calm. Her soft amber eyes and rose colored lips accompanied her long midnight-colored curls. Both her beauty and kindness were known throughout the outskirts of the countryside; however, underprivileged, orphan maidens were not seen very suitable for marriage.

Amelia was content with her life, nevertheless. She helped in what she could around the home, and she gave hope to her brothers and sisters. Her stories gave comfort as a fire in the winter.

On a fateful morning, the young woman received a letter, adorned with an intricate stamp. The Opera Populaire was requesting a new maid (and a small interview to establish boarding and pay).

It was incredible how fast her things had been packed. She was well aware an opportunity like this would not come again. Amelia did not care if she was scrubbing floors; it was time for her to work.

"Maybe you will be a storyteller, or an actress, Amie!"

"All of Paris will know your name!"

They all believed in her with all their hearts.

Footsteps were heard approaching the living space. Mrs. Coellard looked young in her cream dress, her hair in a tight silver braid falling down her back. Her kind face showed signs of a hard life, but a kind soul.

"Are you ready, dear?" the foster woman asked kindly.

"Yes, ma'am. I am," Amelia responded, looking toward her large family. No, she would not cry. She would be strong for them.

The children hugged her one last time, and Mrs. Collard kissed her cheek softly, sending blessings in her ear.

"I will be waiting for your letter, dear. Oh! And here. This will help."

The older woman had tucked a small coin bag into Amelia's hand. It was not much, but it would afford a meal or two. The young woman tried protesting courteously but Mrs. Coellard would not have it.

They accompanied her to the hay carriage, her small belongings placed in the straw. Amelia could not hold back tears as the carriage began to move, the orphanage become smaller and smaller in the distance. The group of children waved, as Mrs. Coellard swayed her handkerchief. The sun was high in the sky as Amelia's adult life had begun.

Her heart was thumping madly as she entered the opera house lobby, passing through hoards of actors, maids, and performers. Amelia had never seen a building so magnificent, so beautiful in her life. She could not help touch the wondrous golden statues adorning the lobby, as she watched a normal day in the opera house pass before her.

She held the letter in her hand; the young woman was to wait in the lobby near noon for a certain Madam Giry.

Amelia was perfectly on time. She tried calming her nerves, reading the letter again; she patted her dress down, making sure there were not any stains or dust.

"Ahem…Miss Jarnette?"

A voice called out to her name behind her. Madam Giry was a serious woman in her fifty's, clad in a beaded black dress. Her brown eyes surveyed Amelia curiously.

"Oh, yes, good afternoon, Ma'am," Amelia responded, curtsying lowly. Madam Giry admired her attitude.

"Pleasure. I am Madam Giry, in charge of the ballet. Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Farmin are busy at the moment, so I will interview you. Any questions can be answered by me. Now, let us walk."

Amelia followed Madam Giry around the lobby staircase, asking the young woman about her life. Amelia was completely truthful, telling the woman of her experience at the orphanage and skills she had learned. Madam Giry did not need know much more information, as she had already made up her mind.

"Now, you will work in the afternoon and nighttime. After the performances, the main room and lobby need a thorough cleaning. There are other maids that will be working alongside you, of course. You will be paid by the end of the week, a franc a day. Now…"

Amelia was listening intently at the woman's words. Madame Giry stopped near a corridor near intricate stairs leading down under the opera house.

"I will assume you do not have place to live…?"

"Oh…no, ma'am. I do not," Amelia responded, blushing slightly.

"Follow me, then."

They walked down the staircase, the air growing slightly colder. Lanterns illuminated the corridor of the cramped boarding rooms of the opera. Several doors were in the corridor, looking quite small from the outside. A few maids were leaving their rooms off to their post. They looked at Amelia enviously.

Madame Giry stopped at the last wooden door. She unlocked it gently.

"This is your room as part of your employment. I am aware it might not be too spacious. I have been trying to get them refurbished by Monsieur Firman, yet his social events seem to be more important", Madame Giry stated, her mouth closing in frustration.

"Oh no ma'am, it is perfect. Thank you! I appreciate this immensely," Amelia stated, happy to have her own little space. Madam Giry was intrigued by this young woman. Most maids are not very happy to be working at opera house. Perhaps she was clueless at the amount of work this meant. She will learn in time, then.

"Hm. Two meals are served each day, 6 a.m. and 5 p.m. It is not much, but Monsieur Veragio's broth can revive the dead. Passes once, be alert. Now…any questions?"

Amelia shook her head respectively. The Madam then handed the small key to Amelia. She smiled kindly to the new young maid.

"Well then. Welcome to the opera house, Miss Jarnette."

With that, Madame Giry turned around and walked up the stairs. Amelia was left alone in her new quarters.

She walked into the cramped room, the ceiling almost hitting her head on the way in. A trifling bed lay in the corner, while a drawer and a small night table were near the bed. There was no window. Amelia saw several candles on the night table. She lit them with a few spare matches she found in the lower drawer.

The room was clear to her now. She could barely spin around once before hitting the bed. Her two bags were taking up space already. Even though it was confined space, Amelia was content.

She sat on the bed, feeling slightly anxious. Amelia hoped this was the right thing.

The hazel eyes watched the fire flicker in the corner, illuminating her room and her mind. She started humming softly, praying to help her feel safe.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few days were arduous, to say the least. The amount of work astounded Amelia, although she did not like to admit it. Nor did she say a word. She was instructed by one of the older maids to clean the seats of the main room, the mezzanine areas, every day. The task took a few hours; Amelia was then to wait until the end of each performance and do the work again, scrubbing for new stains and picking up any waste she could find.

During the day she was to mop the hallways of the boarding rooms and finish the lobby, all while trying not to offend anyone by her presence. It seemed that no matter how much she smiled toward the other women, they either ignored her or looked at her strangely. They did not talk to Amelia; most were jealous of her complexion, while others were just too busy to deal with a naïve and prim mademoiselle. Amelia wondered if she would make a friend at all.

She did her duties silently and without a complaint, however. She put on her simple maid's dress and pulled her waist-length hair into a tight bun every morning, ready to begin the day.

The other maids verbally complained throughout the days, keeping themselves entertained with discussing the newest gossip and handsome devotees of the Opera. Amelia did not mean to overhear, but the maids talked too loudly.

"I heard he's been spotted again! Around the upper hall! Oh, Marie says she saw him and it was like seein' into darkness."

"The Monsieur's don't believe a word of that nonsense. I don't either. I think Marie's been lookin' for trouble. She going to end with it, I tell ya! She's been slackin' too, you know. Leavin' early to talk to the ballet girls. Looking for trouble…"

The older maid shook her head.

"Anne, you keep being skeptical. The ghost could appear right before you, and perhaps you still won't believe it, hmm? Maybe with a noose around your neck you will!"

The younger maid's look of horror made her older friend burst into laughter. Amelia kept hearing these odd tales about a man who lurks in the shadows, occupying empty opera boxes and terrorizing the performers. Sometimes, when passing among the male performers and crew, she heard Joseph Buquet scaring the ballet girls, pretending to wear a piece of marble as a mask. He said the Ghost wore it to protect others from the gaping hole of Hell on his face. Or perhaps it was to cause even more fear into the hearts of the weak?

Weeks passed and Amelia did not see a thing. She did not go looking for 'trouble' either. She did her job meticulously and only took breaks to eat (or breathe). Around the second month, Amelia had enough savings to send a parcel to Mrs. Coellard, full of sweets for the children and a pretty scarlet colored hair pin for the orphanage owner she was able to find in town. She knew Mrs. Coellard would find it to her liking. Amelia kept in contact with her frequently through letters, and she was glad for the emotional support.

She realized the Opera house, although buzzing with activity and chaos, could get quite lonesome. At night, the shadows danced in her small room, creating landscapes and new places for her to invent in her mind. Amelia knew she was too old for these kinds of games, but she could not help it. They did indeed help.

When she tried dozing off into sleep, she would also remember the Opera stage, gazing at the structure as she cleaned the seats. The golden angels seemed to come to life with the flame of the grand chandelier, and she would imagine the little bits of the performances she was able to see from the back. They were more than beautiful, heaven-like in their ability to create new realms and characters. She caught herself imagining how it would be to be on stage, being an actress perhaps. Or a dancer!

Her two left feet disagreed.

She took care of the lobby, also. It would be constantly decorated with new flower arrangements; gorgeous roses, lavenders, and lilies adorned the main staircase every evening. Madam Giry once caught Amelia smelling the red lilies; she pretended not to see her, and walked away. She could not bring herself to interrupt the small maid.

The loud steps of the other boarders kept Amelia from having restful nights, however. She tried to tune them out, humming herself to sleep whenever she could. She would remember old lullabies Mrs. Coellard would sing to the children, soothing herself to sleep some nights. Other times she would stare at the candle on the drawer, following its dance.

The nights after performances were the worst; the endless parties continued until the late hours of the morning. Monsieur Firman and Andre would usually leave right after with a large party into town, drinking most of the champagne before stepping into their carriages. The crew members would stay and drink themselves, music playing on the less ostentatious instruments some owned. Others left early while others also went into the streets to find more merriment.

There were some nights Amelia knew she was alone, uselessly trying to put away the fear that built in the pit of her throat. She was not used to being so alone, although she thought she should be used to it by now.

It was a Friday evening; the second opening of "La Golondrina" had made another successful night at the Opera. La Carlotta had sung like she usually did, with the grace of a skipping elephant. Yet, people enjoyed her theatrics, and paid double for the unexpected fallings of logs or lights. The Opera Ghost had become infamous; some of the audience came just to see if he would appear. Horror sells quickly.

Tonight was no different than any other night: every seat in the theatre sold. The Monsieur's left with their boisterous party, while the crew decided to go off and celebrate themselves. They had put much work into this new play, and they knew they deserved a treat (which unfortunately the Monsieur's knew the crew deserved). With a little bit of a raise in their pay, the ballet girls and crew members were off to a night of entertaining pleasure.

Madam Giry and her daughter went home for the night, for Madam Giry did not believe in such shallow maneuvers of entertainment.

The Opera House was indeed empty.

Amelia was ordered by Anne, the young brunette maid with the sunken eyes, to remember to clean the seats and the stage. She knew it was usually her job to clean the stage also but the other maids were waiting outside for her and she could not stay and clean on such a magnificent night. Let the new maid take of it.

And so Amelia did take care of her job, mopping the entire stage and picking up the rubbish from the balconies and seats. It was not until around midnight that she had finished.

All she could think about walking back to the boarding house area was the hot water she could enjoy. She was accustomed to cold water, but she could not hear a peep coming from the halls. She would have enough water for a hot bath.

As she walked back into the lower hallway, she noticed a different shadow than the ones made by candles on the walls. She also heard drunken singing.

Jean, one of the smiths of the crew, appeared on the corner of the lower hallway, drinking from a half empty bottle of whiskey. The golden liquid swished in the container as he tried getting up from the wall.

"There you are! The new one, aren't ya? A pretty one toooo," he called out, his smile showing under a thick mustache. He must have been around thirty years of age.

A feeling of dread overcame Amelia. She was not very experienced with men, and she had barely been able to speak to anyone at the Opera house, let alone a man.

"G-good evening, Monsieur. Just going in for the night."

The man was blocking the way.

"Oh what fun is tha-? Come out of that room of yours, we know you hide there. Don't be shy, mademoiselle!"

He laughed heartily as his words slurred together.

Should I just walk away? That would be rude…yet, I do now know..I-

"What? Cat got that little tongue of yours? Come over, dearie, do a little turn! Let me see that little waist of yours…"

Amelia was left speechless as his hand grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him roughly. He had a tight hold of her dusty sleeve.

"Sir, please! I must g-"

"Oh, on a night like this? We'll have fun, my dear"

At this, Amelia started to panic, knowing this would not end well. She could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, burning her nose. She decided to warn him one last time.

"Sir, let me go this instant. Or you will regret it."

She stood frozen in place, waiting for the drunken Jean to let go of his tight hold. Her beautiful face was now fierce in her resolute. Jean, however, burst out laughing and did the opposite, pulling her closer to him.

Everything happened too quickly for Jean to register; Amelia's left hand struck his hairy cheek, a strangely strong fist for such a small young woman. The man tumbled backwards and fell to the stone floor, too drunk to get up from the hit. He seemed unconscious, as Amelia realized what she had done. She had not meant to hit him that firm, a slap possibly, yet fear took over at the last second.

She did not know what else to do but run. Amelia ran quickly to the bathhouse, locking herself in one of the more closed off baths. She splashed water on her face, trying to bring color back into her cheeks.

Oh, what have I done? He will surely remember…and he probably will tell Madam or perhaps the Monsieur's… Oh heavens…

Her heart was beating madly. This was the first time a man had touched her, and perhaps she had overacted… What did you do in situations like this?

Her thoughts ran rapidly as she looked down at her sleeve. Jean had torn the dark sleeve from her shoulder, a large tear showing her olive-toned collarbone. Amelia felt tears accumulate on the corners of her eyes, but she shook them away.

She would have to go into town for a seamstress, or perhaps try and fix it herself. She did not have many dresses, and bothering Madam Giry was not on Amelia's to do list.

She stayed in the warm bath only for a little while, not wanting to be alone for too long. Walking briskly into the maid's hallway with her nightgown on, she heard silence from the usual corridors. She hurriedly locked herself in her room for the night.

Her exhausted body found her small bed a blissful comfort after such a long day. She let her hair down, a dark cascade of curls falling down her back. Amelia's eyes caught the candle once again, a habit.

There was something dark on the corner of the drawer; her eyes instantly fell onto the object with curiosity. She slowly lifted herself from the bed, walking a few steps to the wooden furnishing.

A crisp new maid's uniform lay neatly folded, a fresh scarlet lily gracefully placed on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, this is based of a mix of the movie, play and novel.   
> More chapters importing soon.   
> Let me know what you think <3


	3. Chapter 3

She dreamed of a world full of a beautiful darkness, and the stars shining like gems, glowing through the night clouds. They twinkled softly as her mind seemed to grow comfortably warm in the fresh snow.

The banging of the footsteps above woke her up with a start. It took her Amelia minutes to figure out where she was. Her eyes fell upon the red lily which she had placed standing on the night table. The previous events came to her in an instant.

Her chest was beginning to feel heavy as she knew she was to face Monsieur Jean again; would he remember her? Would he have told Madam Giry about her reckless action? Perhaps she had already been fired...

She got up from the bed, hearing Monsieur Veragio cart coming down the hall outside. Amelia touched the new maid uniform absentmindedly.

Who exactly had been able to give her this?

It could not have been Madam...possibly another maid? No, there was no one here besides Jean...and he had been, ahem, asleep on the floor...perhaps..no..

Her mind was obviously becoming delusional. She almost had started to believe the curious tales. Could it have been the Ghost...?

She shook her head out of her disillusionment as she dressed herself quickly.

I might as well get ready, she thought, as she tidied her long hair into a braid.

She ate her breakfast hurriedly and stepped out of her room, all while trying to avoid the other maids. Maybe if she kept her head down, people would not notice her preoccupied state.

Amelia began her usually work, cleaning through the dark velvet seats and picking up the papers left behind my yesterday's grand performance. Hours passed and none of the maids approached her; the recitals went as planned. Everything seemed to be in order, much to Amelia's surprise.

As she passed the upper corridor, the young maid heard a familiar voice.

"That son of a bitch...I'll get em' next time, I swear it."

Amelia turned the corner and witnessed Jean leaning against one of the wooden shelves, rubbing his cheek with his dirty hand. A dirty blonde maid frowned emphatically at his words.

"Watch it, alright? I wouldn't be looking for a fight with him. Take it as some kind of warning."

"A warning for what exactly? Living?!"

The blond shook her head sadly.

"I don't know, darling. Maybe we ought to all be careful."

"It was him, I know it. One moment I'm walkin, the other I'm wakin up with this", Jean stated, fuming.

"Heh. I'll let hell swallow me whole before I let that bastard have another swing at me!"

He stormed down the other side of the hall, the other maid following close behind. Her comforting words were not helping.

Amelia was left dumbfounded. Jean had not remembered a thing, let alone who actually hit him in the first place! She could not help but feel some relief. Whether or not this Ghost really existed did not matter at this moment; He had helped her more than he could imagine.

As she walked down the hall, a smile on her rose lips, Amelia had the strangest feeling she was not alone.

No, she did not see anyone, but the hairs on the back of her head meant something.

She looked around, the candles illuminating the passageway.

This ghost...this person...whoever he is, he's helped me. My dress, the beautiful lily, Jean! Maybe I have been rude…

She stood up straight as she prepared herself. Half of her mind told her she was being a fool, while the other beckoned her forth.

"Thank you."

Her small voice resounded against the walls of the hall, echoing through the corridor. There was no reply; Amelia caught herself slightly disappointment but glad she had thanked him, at least.

"What on earth are you doing?"

A firm voice jolted Amelia back from her thoughts. Madam Giry stood a few paces behind her, a black workbook in her hand. She had been writing down different dates for pay and ballet recitals when she came across the young maid talking to herself.

A strange one indeed, the ballet instructor thought.

"Oh, Madam! I-I, ahem, nothing, just going to the lobby Ma'am."

"The lobby is in that direction..."

Her long manicured finger was pointed toward the other hallway, opposite of where Amelia was heading.

The young maids cheeks became scarlet.

"Ah, right, my apologies."

"Actually, I was looking for you. Come, follow me."

Madam Giry walked away, with Amelia trailing close behind. She barely had time to think of what this could mean. Perhaps Jean had told Madam what had happened, and had pretended to blame the Ghost for his own image. Perhaps she truly was being fired.

Three months Amelia. And you have ruined it.

She sighed to herself.

Madam Giry was leading her towards a part of the Opera House she had never stepped foot in: the manager's area. It was another corridor but the paint was not falling off the walls, and the lanterns were more intricate. Amelia saw another much more beautiful staircase leading to different offices. Those were certainly of the owners.

They arrived at a quaint wooden door; Madam Giry unlocked it and led Amelia in. It was a simple office, with an old mahogany desk and chair. There was an large bookcase behind the desk, mostly filled with quills, workbooks, and books filled with ballet techniques and its history. There were not many decorations, but the office was elegant in a way. One small window brought forth light into the office, the sound of carts and townspeople emerging from the glass.

"Sit,"

She commanded firmly.

Amelia's nerves were not calming down.

The ballet instructor sat down also, sitting with perfect posture. She looked curiously at Amelia, yet not with malice.

"Now...how is your work? I have been observing you and I can surely say I am impressed."

This would have usually helped her anxieties, but Amelia had a feeling she had not been called here to discuss just her work.

"Oh, thank you, Ma'am. Everything is well. Thank you again for the opportunity."

Madam Giry made a noise of acceptance and her eyes went to the book on her desk. Her fingers turned the page casually.

She did not say word for what it seemed an eternity. Sweat accumulated on Amelia's brow.

"Hopefully Jean recovers from that awful blow, more to his pride than his skin."

Her dark eyes met Amelia's, as the young maid opened her mouth to say, something, anything to explain herself. But no words came out.

Madam Giry's face was deadly serious but her eyes had an amusing gleam to them.

"Ma'am I- I can explain. It is my fault, I overrea-"

A graceful hand in the air stopped Amelia's babbling.

"Next time, hit him twice for me."

Amelia could not believe what her ears were hearing, but Madam Giry's eyes were twinkling in the afternoon sun from the window.

The maid could not suppress a small smile. A question emerged on her lips before she could tell herself to stop.

"But...how do you know what happened?"

"Eyes and ears, my dear. The walls have eyes and ears. Let Jean believe whatever he wants, hmm?"

Amelia looked down at her lap, wondering what exactly Madam Giry meant. Had she been there when Jeanne had grabbed her?

But she did retire to her home with her daughter...then perhaps someone...no, I do not believe any of the other maids would help me. And what about the uniform?

"Now, if you have any questions, or ANY problems, you are aware of where I am if-"

Suddenly the wooden door of the office opened, a tall ballet girl walking right in.

"Mother, the girls and I practiced more, but I've told them to practice the balancé since Giana bends forward a bit too much, and its-."

The ballet girl stopped in her steps as she felt the glare coming from Madam Giry. Her eyes could cut through stone.

"What have I told you about knocking...?"

She did not raise her voice but the words were said with a frightening ferocity. The ballet girl was almost shaking in her cream dress. Her blue eyes looked upon Amelia for the first time.

"Oh, heavens, forgive me, Mother! I won't do it again, I promise!"

She held her hands together; Madam Giry sighed in frustration. She lifted herself up from the desk.

"Amelia, this is my daughter who is incapable of knocking on doors. Meg, this is Amelia, working to make this opera house more presentable than its workers."

Meg smiled kindly toward Amelia and held out her hand. The maid shook it, grateful to know someone around her age. Her wavy blond hair was held in a bow the same color as her dress; Amelia had seen her dancing in some of the performances.

"Accompany Miss Jarnette to the maid's corridors, please. I must deal with the other girls myself. Excuse me, Miss Jarnette."

Before they exited the room, Amelia bowed and thanked Madam Giry. The ballet instructor hurriedly walked toward the stage, while Meg walked with Amelia.

"So, how much time have you been here?"

"Oh, only three months. Well it will be three months and four days this Sunday, I believe."

Meg nodded, listening courteously to the maids words.

"Have you been here long with Madam Giry?"

"About four years. We lived here in the beginning but Mother got annoyed with the crew so we had enough to rent a house down the street. We live there now."

"Oh, that must be wonderful, having a house in the city!" Amelia responded, a dreamy look in her eye.

"Yes, I do love it myself. You should visit soon! Mother makes this ginger tea that is just wonderful. You would love it!"

Megs waves bobbed enthusiastically with her head, her pretty face beaming with happiness. Amelia had never been invited to tea; she would surely remember this moment.

"You are too kind, but I would not want to bother you and your mother..." Amelia stated respectfully.

"Oh nonsense! She can be a bit scary, but I assure you, she's very kind and loves guests, she just won't say it out loud."

She laughed mischievously.

They were almost to the maid's corridors. Meg continued to talk about different things to do around the opera house, and to be careful with the construction and repair crew ("a bunch of troublemakers") and the abandoned library, and how to get an extra loaf of bread from Monsieur Veragio-

"Wait, abandoned library? Here?"

"Well, if you call a few bookcases huddled in creepy room a library. There used to be a bigger one but they changed it to make more offices."

Amelia had only been able to read a few children's books growing up. Mrs Coellard had taught the children writing and arithmetic, and even some history, but there was not much time for leisurely reading. This abandoned library interested her more than she would admit.

"Where exactly is this place?"

They arrived at Amelia's corridor. Meg did not want to leave for practice but she knew her mother would probably disown her if she continued slacking.

"Instead of taking the upper stairs to Monsieur Farmin and Andres' offices, continue toward the bottom corridor and turn left. Now, the rooms are all storage but the last one is where you want to go. Don't expect much, though, it's only a few. But take as many as it pleases you. Trust me, no one reads here."

Amelia grabbed Meg's hands gently.

"Thank you! I appreciate this immensely."

Meg shrugged her shoulders casually, her thin pink lips in a grin. She did not know books could make someone so happy. Meg only knew ballet and how it helped her feel happiness (despite her mother's strict discipline).

They said their goodbyes and Amelia went straight back to work, her heart a little lighter than before. She thanked the Saints for her new friend. Perhaps things would get better. Perhaps she would finish work earlier, and have time to do some exploring.

...

The performance was a success again, although some would argue the banister that almost knocked down Signor Piangi was more than an accident. Nevertheless, people cheered more than ever. Amelia hurried through her work, yet still being as meticulous as ever. Some of the maids actually helped on this occasion, helping her to finish more quickly.

The clock struck eleven, and the Opera house was once again almost deserted. There were some maids that went to sleep while most went drinking with the crew again. That left Amelia to herself, putting on a cleaner, dark blue dress and taking a lantern with her into the insides of the Opera house.

She walked back to the area of the offices, hearing distant voices and laughing. The young maid followed Meg's instructions and turned left, down some stairs.

Her skin was feeling the growing cold of the corridor, going deeper into the floors of the Opera house. There was barely any light, and her lantern was not helping much.

She kept walking until she could not hear any voices, but the dripping of pipes in the foreground. Her breath echoed on the walls. She was not afraid, nonetheless.

Amelia walked further until reaching the last door, grimy and decrepit. She unlatched the barred door, putting the piece of wood down by her feet. A small creak came from the door, opening into pure darkness. She held her lantern in front of her; she could barely make out the room itself.

Amelia saw a small dirty table in the middle and a broken candelabra with half-melted wax sticks. She took her own candle and lighted the sticks, bringing light to the old room. The young maid could see clearly now.

The room seemed to walk back into the last century, adorned with a beautiful but cobweb-covered crown molding of angels and grapevines. Around her were statues and props, all covered in years' worth of dust. The wooden floor at her feet was filled with what seemed like holes, rats to blame.

She turned around, the lantern guiding her. Meg had been right.

Before her were were four bookcases, one of them falling on top of a dark wooden drawer. They were filled with books of all sizes, the larger ones at the bottom of the shelves. They looked hauntingly beautiful in the candlelight.

Amelia's heart leaped at the sight. Her small fingers trailed along their spines, feeling the old covers beneath her skin.

Her hands caught one and pulled it out, dust falling around her. But she did not care, and sat down, beginning to read a History of our Emperor.

She read the first few pages, already caught up in the turmoil's of war. Amelia closed it softly and put it on the table, making sure to take it with her.

She went back to the upper shelves seeing a romance from a few decades ago. Her hands took the book out, reading the first few pages. Another one for the stack.

Amelia did not know how long she was in the room until she looked up at the wax and saw it was almost completely melted. The room was extremely cold, but she barely had noticed while she was reading.

Amelia decided to take one last book before leaving with her cargo: a view at French architecture.

She took the books and lantern, blew out the candles, and left the abandoned room just how it was.

…..

It became a ritual of sorts: Amelia would finish her duties, take a quick bath, change her clothes and take her lantern down into the room. She would take one book every time, and make sure to bring it back shortly. Weeks passed like this, as Amelia started reading more and more; she would read while eating and began a habit of staying up late to read an extra chapter or two. Each book was a world unto its own.

After the fourth week, the little library started to feel like her own room, comfortable despite its decrepit state. She decided some of the cleaning supplies and dust the props and furnishings, trying to make the signs of abandonment disappear. The young maid cleaned the bookshelves and even put an extra lantern on table. She took scrupulous care of every book.

She started writing to Mrs. Coellard using the table, much bigger than the one in her actual room. Amelia also noticed some of the books were torn out of their spine; she made sure to go into town on her free day and find some paste.

It was a Saturday night like every other Saturday night. It was mid-November, the weather in Paris becoming very chilly.

Amelia was done with her responsibilities. The young maid knew the steps by heart, journeying down the opera house once again.

She dusted for the any new dirt and began putting back the precious books. Amelia then took a smaller book to the table.

An hour passed, and she was almost finishing the book. It was getting past midnight, and she knew she should return. Tomorrow was her day off, and perhaps she should sleep in a bit.

Amelia decided to take a bigger book with her tonight; she found those to be the most filled with fascinating information. Although she enjoyed the romances immensely, she loved to read about different planets, cities, and scholars.

Her eyes caught a completely black book huddled in the falling bookshelf; her hands caught the book and pulled, yet it did not come out.

A clicking noise came from the angled shelf, accompanied by a sliding sound from the corner.

What in God's name…?

The large dusty drawer had opened up to reveal an even darker opening. She looked inside and saw wet, stone stairs leading further downward.

Would she dare?

She turned around at the room, knowing all too well what a fool she would be if she followed the path.

Yet, her heart was pushing her forward, begging her to take at least a peak.

No, Amelia, you are not 4, this is not a game. Go back to your room.

But her heart was ignoring her mind.

She sighed, the only sound in the room. Perchance...just a quick look.

Amelia took the lantern at her feet and put a new candle in. She pushed her long braid to her side, making space for her dress through the opening. It was large enough for a tall child; she had to bend down completely in order to enter.

She placed the lantern in front of her, walking carefully down the stone steps. They looked ancient and very slippery. She held her hand out onto the walls for support. There was barely a sound but her feet trudging carefully.

After what seemed like forever, her feet found the bottom of the steps. The lantern barely illuminated the vast stone passage in front of her. It had been carved out of the rock, water running down its walls. The library above seemed warm compared to the temperature here.

Amelia was seeing her breath in front of her.

Her mind was telling her to turn back while her chest was heaving with an eerie sense of excitement.

She was walking slowly, and for a second, she looked above her, tracing the lines of condensation.

Suddenly, her foot caught a stone out of place. Her mouth made an odd sound as her hands broke the fall on the cold floor.

Amelia did not feel any pain until she looked down at her wrist.

Blood was coming out slowly from a small, but wide cut. Her palm had also been scratched badly from the fall.

Now, maybe her mind had been correct. She cursed her stupidity mentally.

Amelia grabbed the lantern by her side with her other arm, trying to lift herself up against the wall.

When she lifted her head up, a pair of steel gray eyes stared at her own through a pure white mask. A strong gloved hand covered her mouth delicately, yet she did not scream.


	4. Chapter 4

It seems that she walks on a thin layer of moonlight, wherever she goes. There is an aura of purity that surrounds her. Her lips are tainted with a color of fresh blood, her hair a dark abyss of dancing curls. And her eyes! Those eyes the color of the sun before it touches the horizon, shining in the lanterns light. Her hands, delicate as she takes care of the books as if they were her own children, carefully setting them into their cradles for the long ceaseless nights. I had wanted to take them away from her, a childlike impulse to protect what is mine. But I could not break such an image, an untainted soul, a angel without wings. She could have what she yearns for. They were only pages of words, words that were intended to be shared. Perhaps this would be an exchange that my soul could accept. A foolish occurrence to ponder, perchance, but part of me wanted her to know. To know I was watching beyond her firelight and the darkness. I wanted to hear her voice directed toward me.

And now I was looking into those suns of hers, staring into mine. I could smell her wrist's blood, a spill I would have prevented.

I wanted her to know everything.

But I could not have that. I was not destined to have that. There was no luck left for me.

A ghost lives in nothing. I have silenced the voice that cries out for light.

...

It was one of those moments that the mind forgets any traces of words. There was a mist in her mind, preventing her from saying anything. Her body was paralyzed, but not because of the cold. It was his hand, gently but firmly on her mouth. But what stopped her from making any movements were his eyes. The intensity in the steel grey orbs told an endless story, a deep hurt she could tell from his gaze.

It was a strange, familiar sight, something she did not understand.

She wanted to dive into the slits of dark color. They summoned her forth, but she was frozen.

Amelia's bleeding hand pulsating against the stone floor, begging for assistance.

The Man, as if hearing her limbs cries, removed the hand from her mouth and lifted her limp hand. He reached for his hip, too dark for Amelia to see. His hand emerged with a deep blue handkerchief; the man took her injured hand and cleaned the blood with the fine silk, putting slight pressure on the cut to stop its bleeding.

Amelia could not help but flinched at the pressure but was too shocked to refute. He then tore the handkerchief and wrapped the strips of cloth around her wrist, cleaning off the debris from her scratched hand. The degree of gentleness coming from the tall figure was unbelievable, Amelia's mind becoming full of curiosity.

The lantern at her feet was not giving off much light, but she could see him oddly clearly. After finishing his work, he lifted himself up from the ground.

His skin was the color of tanned ivory, while his slicked back hair was black with hints of chocolate shining in the flame. He wore a dark waistcoat, an even darker neck tie decorating his long neck. The man was tall in stature, almost two heads taller than the petite maid. His face shown signs of aging around his eyes; perhaps he was around his thirty-fifth or thirty-sixth year.

It was a fierce type of handsomeness, his aquiline nose giving an air of pride.

Yet, it was the mask that glowed from his slim but strong body that shined in the light. Amelia could not tell of what it was made of, but it seemed perfectly smooth against the skin beneath.

What was it hiding? A scar? A burn?

He extended his large gloved hand for her. It took her a few seconds to realize the gesture, and placed her un-injured hand in his. The man lifted her unto her feet effortlessly.

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting once again; the light from the lantern gave his face the appearance of something unnatural, a man nor ghost, but something more.

As her mind tried to decide of what to say, he swiftly turned and began to leave away from her, walking a few paces down the passageway.

"Wa- wait! Please! I have not thanked you, sir!"

She tried moving from the wall, but her feet slid beneath the wet floor. Moving was not ideal at the moment, she decided.

He stopped in his footsteps, his back to her.

"You have approximately one minute to find your way back up those steps. You have ten minutes to walk back into your room and close the door. You have a lifetime to forget what you have seen, if need be."

Amelia's lungs swallowed cold air. She was almost shaking, trying to find the correct words.

"Sir please, I just want to thank you, I- I know I was not supposed to be here. I am sorry...I am...Who, who are you?"

The words spilled out her full lips. There was silence for a short time. She pushed further.

"Are you...are you the Opera Ghost?"

Amelia cursed her presumptuous mouth. Why couldn't it shut itself up in these situations?

He stayed motionless in the middle of the passageway, a few steps from the maid.

"That name is better than what most have called me. It is all the same to me."

He spoke fiercely, with a tone of unnerving bitterness.

Amelia could sense his emotions; even a few steps away from him she realized it must be something to do with the beautiful half mask. Perhaps he was aware of the horrible tales about himself; he had heard.

Her heart gave her some courage.

"But...but you are a man."

She said it simply, as if it was the most basic fact in the world. Her words, however, resounded off the walls, reaching the Ghosts mind as a beautiful echo.

A man? Was he a man? Could he be a man?

Did she see him as a man...and not a demon?

But she had not seen him...seen all of him. She had no idea; she was naive.

He began walking again toward the darkness.

"Wait! Monsieur, wait, please!"

But it was too late, for he had disappeared into what God only knows.

Amelia stared into the sightless passage, waiting for a sound or anything from the man, but no sound came. He had vanished and he would not return.

Amelia was speechless as she had no choice but to return to the little library, leave the books where they belonged. She knew she must try and forget what she saw.

She traced back her steps and closed all the doors. Before she could even think, Amelia was in her room, surrounded by the strange viscosity of what had just occurred.

She sat on her small bed and stared at the wilting red lily.

He really existed, this ghost, this apparition. But he was no ghost or apparition. He was a human like her, and everyone else around them.

She tried going to sleep but it was of no use. Her mind was spinning, remembering those eyes that seemed to stare right into her spirit. It was frightening, and yet, she wanted to know more.

Amelia thanked God that she did not have to wake up before the sun emerged. Now that she had been at the Opera house for a few months, the young maid could have a day or two off.

Eventually, she dozed off into a shallow slumber. Amelia woke around ten the following morning, her body aching from lack of good rest.

She unwrapped the strips of the handkerchief to see the cut healing quickly, but her palm was still quite red; she wrapped it again, her other hand absentmindedly stroking the fine torn silk.

Amelia decided to dress herself quickly; today would be the perfect day to go into town. She picked a dress she had not worn yet, a smooth red frilled dress that accentuated her small waist. Instead of her usual braid or bun, she decided to wear her long curls down, an elegant halfway style. As soon as she emerged from her room, the men down the halls gawked and the other maids regarded her resentfully. The young maid was oblivious to the gazes, however.

She walked past the corridors and into the lobby. Amelia was near the doors when she heard her name being called.

"Amelia! Ameeeeeeelia!"

Meg was running towards her, wearing a green simple but handsome dress.

"How have you been? Are you going off to town? I will come with you! I have to pick some new ribbons for me and the rest of the girls for the performance tomorrow."

Amelia was trying to register all the questions, not used to Meg's speed of communication.

"Oh, of course! I would enjoy that", Amelia answered, genuinely smiling. She had not been able to see Meg lately, since she was busy practicing for the new performance, The King and his Wives. Nevertheless, whenever Meg caught a glimpse of Amelia working around the Opera house, she would always wave and greet her kindly.

As they walked through the main doors, Meg gazed at Amelia's countenance.

"You do look so lovely today! I mean, you always do, but it's quite different seeing you without your uniform."

"You are too kind. You look quite pretty, like always," Amelia responded, waiting to cross the street with her friend.

Meg smiled and bumped at Amelia's shoulders as they both witnessed a fetching gentleman in a white shirt and dark coat passing by, tipping his hat amiably. His eyes beamed especially toward Amelia.

The ballet girl stepped over a puddle, looking down and noticing the blue silk wrapped around Amelia's hand.

"Oh, Amelia, what happened? Is your hand alright?"

Amelia had to look down to see what Meg's was speaking about. She thought about telling her everything, but something else told her to keep it hidden. Amelia knew Meg would not take the meeting of the famous Opera Ghost very lightly.

"N-nothing, Meg, it is nothing to worry about, really. Just slipped cleaning the stairs."

Meg nodded, telling her to be careful next time.

The maid would be careful, indeed.

They walked around the center of town, heading toward the markets near the Governor's square. The ladies conversed about the goings-on at the Opera house, stopping to see the dresses in Lady Madeline's Manufacturers. They looked upon a dancing gypsy in the street, a young man a few years younger than Amelia. She thought his striking blue eyes contrasted beautifully with his dark skin.

When they reached the ribbon shop, Meg went on to speak to the owner about buying a bulk of the material. It was a small but cozy shop, filled up to the top with every color of ribbon possible. Amelia continued walking toward the back of the store, staring at the amounts of silk and cotton. Her eyes fell upon the back wall, copious amounts of handkerchiefs reaching the ceiling. On the left corner, a white handkerchief lay gently on its shelf. It reminded her of something else that would not escape her mind that was also white.

She looked down at her wrapped hand.

It would be perfect.

….

After their purchases, Meg and Amelia sat on stone bench near a few rose bushes in the square. The ballet girl was showing her friend the beautiful ribbon she had just bought.

A question emerged on Amelia's lips. If she did not ask Meg, perhaps she would not have the courage to ask it any other time.

"Ah…Meg, what do you know of the Opera Ghost?

Meg's usually bright blue eyes turned dark as she looked down at her lap.

"Well, that's what I ask myself really. And my mother. But she will not hear me, she just shuts me up. She thinks I'm foolish for even asking. But I hear he is utterly horrible. Some of the maids have seen this phantom, and they say the skin on his face melts off his bones. And he wears this ghastly mask to hide his face, but it doesn't cover it all. He doesn't even have a nose! And he hunts at night, for the weak. But, um, I've never seen him."

So…He was the Opera Ghost…the Phantom. If they only knew…

"Why? Have you seen him?!"

Meg stared at Amelia with apprehension.

"Oh no, I was just a little curious."

Amelia stated this so casually that Meg went back to staring at her lap.

The least the young maid could do is protect the Ghost's- the man's identity. She would not tell anyone what she had seen.

It was around sunset when the ladies returned to the Opera house; Meg hugged Amelia affectionately as she said her goodbye, going off to join her mother. Amelia, however, would not retire to her bed just yet.

She waited a few hours in her quarters, writing a letter to Mrs. Coellard. She ate her dinner, and later changed into her usual plain dress, knowing she probably would not see the man again. She just wanted to leave him an item that represented her thanks.

Around ten, there was not much noise around her. This was the time to leave. Her feet found the way again, despite her heart's precautions.

Amelia knew it was dangerous, unwise even. She was trying to find a man known for being a monster.

He is not a monster. He was kind enough to help me, and I was being a meddling fool. He could have left me there, but he did not. I owe him this at least.

She held the small box in her hands, wrapped underneath her sleeve. Her long curls trailed behind her.

Grabbing a lantern from the walls, Amelia walked down the abandoned corridor, feeling the familiar coldness. When she arrived at the acquainted door, her heart sank.

She could feel the air escape her lungs in shock.

The library door was now barred with a new metal lock, barely moving as she pounded on the door.

"No…", she whispered in the dark.

"NO! Please, this is not fair!" Amelia proclaimed, as she knocked strongly on the door.

She tried lowering her voice, but a mix of rage and sadness was building quickly. She spoke to the walls around her, toward the door, and mainly, toward the Ghost.

"I know you are there! I know you can hear me! Please! I just want to make things….right…"

Her knees buckled, her body falling down along the wooden door, tears falling down her cheeks. This was like her second home, and now, it had been taken from her. She knew it was not hers, and she perhaps deserved this.

That did not mean it did not hurt like a dagger to her heart.

"I will not leave….I will not leave until you open this door, Monsieur!"

She spoke into the door, praying he was hearing her. Amelia would not move.

Her mind was working a plan like clockwork. She knew him more than he was aware of. She knew what she would do.

….

After a few hours of sitting against the door, tears drying on her olive cheeks, Amelia had fallen into a deep sleep. It was quite late, beyond midnight. The cold was getting terribly abundant.

He was watching, and he knew he could not leave her there. Several times he told himself to walk away, but he simply could not. He was a monster, perhaps, but he also considered himself a gentleman. He had manners. He would not leave her, despite how stubborn this young woman was.

She did not know it, but the lock was for her protection.

The Ghost emerged from one of the doors, standing silently above the petite young girl. Her dress was hugging her waist and slim legs, the hair on her neck standing up from the temperature. She was pure beauty in deep sleep.

He lifted her gently, picking her up as if she were glass. The young maid held something firmly against her chest, barely moving as the Ghost began to walk swiftly down the corridor.

It was unfortunate that He was too busy watching his steps, making sure he did not wake the small girl in his hands. He usually noticed every detail, but on this occurrence, he failed to notice her eyes opening, a shy smile on her lips as she knew her plan had worked.


	5. Chapter 5

The young maid knew what she was doing. She was aware that he would not let her sleep on the cold floor, that he would eventually come forth out of his hiding. She knew he was kind, beyond what others said.

All Amelia wanted was to give him her gift; if this would be the only way, then so be it.

She was nestled against his broad chest, trying to keep her calm as this was truly the first time she had been held by a man. She was mentally thankful for the low lighting; Amelia knew her cheeks were blazing scarlet.

As soon as her eyes opened, the man knew he was being looked upon and immediately gazed downward at the small girl in his arms.

He noticed things other humans did not, and he was aware of things that others would not care to know. He was beyond the glimpse of human vision.

But this young woman in his arms, this naive girl who had not even reached her twentieth year, had tricked him. He was not used to this and he would certainly never forget.

His dark eyes met hers, a deep annoyance building in his pupils.

For a split second, Amelia thought he would drop her, but he only sighed in frustration.

"Good Evening," Amelia proclaimed casually.

She had no idea where this courage was coming from, but it was helping in making her seem completely fearless. Yes, it was late, and yes, she might have been playing the part of fool quite well, but she needed to do this.

He smelled oddly wonderful, something strong and invigorating.

Amelia was surely not used to the scent.

The man closed his eyes as he let Amelia down to her feet, eyeing her with distrust.

Perhaps I could show him I am not an enemy…

He walked back a few paces away from her, the distance made purposely. The masked stared back.

The man would not be taken as a fool any longer.

He was about to walk away, and leave this troublesome girl.

But first, she must learn.

"Trickery is not an admirable quality, my dear. Ponder another way of making a first impression."

He said the words with venom, warning her yet again.

"Monsieur, you have already witnessed my first impression, and it involved a bloody wrist. I had to resolve to a bit of deception, since now my only refuge is barred unto me."

Amelia was starting to become weary.

She needed those books again, and she would not stand for this. But she was aware stomping her feet and pounding on the door would get her nowhere.

She reached out, the small black box in her hands. Amelia waited.

The man eyed her from afar, observing her facial movements and breathing. She was nervous, but there was no malice.

"Run along now, Child. You are wasting your time trying to coax your way into what is not yours."

Amelia was appalled, to say the least. She ignored all the terrible rumors and names, and decided to speak to the tall man as a human; she was awfully tired of his rudeness.

"I-I am not coaxing you, Sir, into doing anything! This is a gift! You helped me, and I wanted to show my thanks, since you would not stay for a verbal thank you. Perhaps I would like to thank you using your actual name! Perhaps it is a waste of my time, but I choose to waste it like this!"

The man' countenance stayed as grave and dark as his long coat, but in his mind, he knew he should not have been so cold, so distant. This young girl had treated his books with care and love, and he had shown her no warmth. Nevertheless, it was his defense against everything, including humanity.

"I did not come here to fight, Monsieur", Amelia stated calmly, steadying herself.

"I just wan-"

His long slender hand flew up before her, stopping her in her words. In a few seconds, an audible laugh came from the upper stairs. Whoever it was, they were approaching quickly.

Amelia did not feel his hand on her small hip, nor the force of his hands pulling her into his chest, dragging them both into one of the other abandoned rooms. It was pitch black, the room being big enough for a few boxes and coats perhaps, but not the Ghost and the determined girl. The door slammed behind the girl, locking them in.

She could feel her back against the door, the man's larger figure looming above her. She could not see anything, nor hear much but her heavy breathing. Down the abandoned hall, one of the maids and a crew member laughed drunkenly, kissing fervently against the lantern light. They laughed heartedly as two children, playing and chasing each other.

The Opera ghost waited patiently and silently, his hands on Amelia's small shoulders. Her chest breathed deeply, rising in the dark.

Her nostrils were filled with his scent, surrounding her with a stimulating perfume. Her head was spiraling and her heart was beating madly.

It was a few minutes later that the laughs diminished and footsteps could be heard running away, until Amelia was left to hear the silence of the night. She could not see anything, but she elusively looked above her, knowing he was watching her. The young maid could feel his gaze, like fire burning her from the inside. His strong hands were still on her, keeping her still.

She understood now why they spoke of his ghostly appearance, or how frightening he was. The figure was intimidating, to say the least.

Amelia did not know why her mind was blank, momentarily forgetting everything and why she had come to all this trouble in the first place. His voice suddenly cut through the silence.

"Erik. That is all you must know."

The young maid could hear something snap, something opening in the dark. He released his grip softly on her shoulders, walking away in pure obscurity. The snapping noise was heard again, then the sound of a latch closing. She dared to reach out beyond her, but the man, Erik, had vanished once again.

He had taken the small box.


End file.
